


In The  Afterglow

by ReloadTheWorld



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hope, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, Mentor Stephen Strange, Minor Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Moving On, POV Peter Parker, Peace, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has PTSD, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Ned Leeds, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Spider-Man: Homecoming Spoilers, Stephen Strange Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 01:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19453855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReloadTheWorld/pseuds/ReloadTheWorld
Summary: In the darkness of after, there's a glow.(Peter trying to move on from all the pain he's faced)References to PTSD, depression and feels.





	1. The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> HI ALL! I just saw Far From Home today with my boyfriend and WOW. IT WAS WOW. Very funny, definitely recommend. But ANYWAY, I'm making a series! Lots of inspiration. Let me know if I should continue!!!!

I never used to get them before; the nightmares. In fact I was relatively nightmare free, believe it or not- but then Summer had to happen. Then _he_ had to show up, mess with my vacation, my feelings and mental wellness- so now I can't have a night without waking up screaming, or dry heaving, or panicking so much that I have to pinch myself because I once again forget what's _real._

I have a lot of trouble remembering that reality is real sometimes. I know it's completely irrational and stupid, but ever since the illusions I'm paranoid that I'm living some fake life, and when I turn around he'll be in my face, throwing images at me that I don't want to see and feelings that feel too real, and I'll be running endlessly to get away with no hope.

It's not necessarily his fault, he didn't want to hurt me or anyone else (I think) … but I got in his way, so he got in mine, and now his exit is always in my way; the things he's done WILL NEVER go away and the terrible things that have happened before that will never go away. They've stayed in my mind ever since Tony died, ever since I became spiderman, since saw Ben die and now all the thoughts seem to follow me everywhere.

I feel guilty every day for it. Life is better now, I have no reason to be all mopey; but I still kick myself and cry and wish that nothing ever happened.

On the nights that I awaken too early (every night) I play with Tony's tech glasses, Edith - I transferred her files to a pair of old glasses too, just in case the real pair breaks- and she calms my nerves. It's the exact same pair he used to wear. When I'm down in the dumps I just rub the lenses and try to smile. I still have the letter he left in the glasses case:

“To the next Ironman, I trust you.”

The next ironman. Like anyone could top Tony. Happy even said it. “You can't beat Tony, nobody can beat Tony, Tony couldn't even match himself.”

There will never be 'the next ironman', no one can replace what was so unique and unreplaceable and I'm okay with that. I'm not okay that he died, (theemlty, lifeless look of hid eyes)but I've come to accept that that is just what had to happen and he chose for his end to go that way and he was happy with his decision.

I h ope I'm what he would have wanted me to be. I hope I'm enough for what his standards were, and that he didn't make a mistake with me, after all, I am just a kid. I have made mistakes. I've messed up. I've done well too, and that's great, and I know I am great- I'm one of the last Avengerss… but sometimes I really wonder if I'm enough, if I  _was_ enough, can be enough. The nightmares say no. Sometimes I say no.

I wonder if Tony would say no?

  



	2. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tape, clocks and paper, oh my.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy! Chapter one is official OH YEAH. I worked a good 3 hours on this, I hope it's good enough for the wait. Comments are appreciated! 
> 
> Anyway, welcome to In The Afterglow!
> 
> (Also, stalk me on insta @eviemazing)

* * *

I'm used to sprinting out of my nightmares, waking up like I ran a 5k without stopping, sweating and out of breath. This time is different, because this time I scream my way out, yelping like a wounded dog searching for help. Screaming so loud that it shakes the entire world, but so quietly that it only shakes mine.

It was drawn out, agonizing and scary beyond belief- and also the worst one yet. But I'm not going to tell anyone that.

_I appear in a jet black landscape- so dark that I can't see my hands inches in front of my face. There's an eerie silence that makes the hairs on my arms rise. I just stand there, waiting. And waiting. Nothing happens, no senses flicker. It's odd because usually once the dream starts_ **_he's_ ** _already here, and that's how I get out- by running from him. (Running like a scared little-)_

_But there's no sign of him; no cape, no illusions or graveyards or cameras- nothing._

  


_"_ **_So he wants me to wait, huh. Well I'll wait."_ **

  
  


_I sat on the ground I couldn't see, listening for the sounds I couldn't hear, waiting for a nightmare that wouldn't come. Waiting. I became unbearably cold very quickly. Thoughts of what he was planning entered my mind subconscious mind as I shooed them away. I almost wish he would get it over with so I can stop_ **_dreading._ **

  


_I got up and started walking, hoping that the movement would draw him out of hiding. My foot got latched onto invisible object, pulling and crushing my ankle. I shriek, pulling away and_ _running, running, running._ _Rolls of cassette film appeared with every step from my sneakers behind me, like a snake approaching its dinner._

**_He's here, he's here but where the hell is he?_ **

  


_The film slowed to a crawl._

_Cameras flash. CD disks eject._

_PCs crash and error. Mouses click rapidly._

_Keyboards clack like tap shoes. The of the_ _old Windows software starting up- louder and louder and louder._

_Over_

_And over_

_And over._

_I slam my palms over my ears to block the noise, but…._

  
  


**_"You know that won't work, Peter."_ **

  


_Anger jumps from my throat and out of my mouth. "Cut the act, Beck!" I yell. "Stop being a coward and get out here!" My voice is thinned out from screaming._

  


_"Come on now, why would I be scared of you?" He chorts._

_Blinding light flashes from my eyes and I hiss, swatting the air like that'll make it go away._

_"Just because you killed me with my own gun, my own bullet; did you even think I died? You're a fool, Parker."_

_A camera stand falls forward, pushing me, causing me to fall backwards on my ankle. The sounds of pain gurgle in my throat. I stay down._

  


_"I'd say you can run but not hide," he mocks, "but apparently you can't do either."_

_"Get out here you bitch!" I snarl, standing on one foot in the dark, limping._

  


_"Or what, Peter? What are you going to do? What can you do that I can't? Or rather-"_

_Hundreds of clawed drones hover above, descending to my level, LEDs flickering green._

_"What can I do that you can't?"_ **Not a lot.** Fear _catches my breath. I get down on all fours (threes) crawling as fast as I can manage._

  


_"You really think you can get past me?"_ **_No, not really, but not moving would be kind of stupid, you know?_**

_"Them." I choke. "Get past them. They're not you, Beck. They're lifeless. You felt powerless on your own in your own life so you took to machines to make yourself strong and mess with other; but that's not strength at all, Quentin-"_

_The name burns my lungs like a shot of rum. "that's called being a coward!"_

  


_I say this even as I get picked up by the drones; their claws sinking into my skin. I throw blind punches, screaming and squirming, but not giving in. He'll never have his way as long as I'm alive._

  


_"Maybe you're right," he says. "but that makes you a hypocrite-" his voice gets a rough, dangerous edge. "because you're nothing. Even with the powers and the suit and the girl, you will and always will be_ **_nothing_ , **_Spiderman._ _So save the talk and the heroism, because from now on no one cares about what you say or what you do._ _"_

  


And that's when the drones pull me in half.

________________________________________

  


I wake up stiff and in a jolt, my terror muffled by duck tape trapped tightly over my mouth. 

I know, it's not the safest idea to have tape over your mouth while you sleep, but I do it so I don't alarm May or any of the neighbors past 12am. It happened once and I **never** want to relive it, so I mute myself to prevent everyone from worrying.

Times when I'm sick or have a stuffy nose are usually the times when I finish all the books I haven't read or watch all the shows I've missed or stack Legos because those days I don't sleep at all- that would be suicide. 

Sometimes I wish Illness upon myself- not that I think I deserve to suffer, no. It's because I would much rather be doing something productive and being happy then wasting time being paralyzed.

I would do that more often- pull allnighters- but my sleep schedule isn't the greatest- at most I get 12 hours of sleep a week, give or take. This doesn't bother me since I barely notice the difference anyway. No one else notices either; not that they've told me. But it doesn't matter, my health and well-being is as important as the next guy's, so I do what I can do to be rested. Too bad it's not enough.

Does doing what I can always work? No. Does it work half the time? Not a bit. Does it at all? … don't make me answer that. 

  
  


I practically rip off the tape, long, shaky breaths escaping my throat. The blankets feel like they're closing in on me so I kick them off in a haste, crawling as far away from them as possible, my ankle thribbing with phantom pain. I inhale slowly, wiping the sweat off my face. 

  


My eyes try adjusting to the light, but little professional cameras dance around my vision, so I slam them shut again, blinking the images away. My digital clock stands in position by my bedside, mocking me.

**3:27am**.

I groan internally, swinging my feet down to the floor and standing, shaking off what remains of the dream fog.

Pain shoots up my leg; ironically the same one that my ankle sprained on in my dream. I wince, stumbling into my dresser, knocking off a few books (The Math Behind Science, How To Be A Superhero: The Guide For Dummies, Desperation, An Abundance of Katherines, Tony Stark: The Biography) and an old ironman mask I had since I was 8.

_Ironman. Mister Stark._

I sigh, gingerly picking up the plastic and wiping the rim with my thumb, kissing the top; gently placing it back. A longing grumbles deep within my core. A longing to consul to him, a longing to see his face, to hear "Underroos!" as I swing into battle, a longing I've shoved down whenever it pops up in fear of putting myself in a position of hope.

But this time I let it hover; if only for a moment- letting it linger until it freezes itself to be heated another day, thinking of him until fantasy clashes with realistic thinking, and I let go. It's so hard to let go, which is why I don't think about him, but keeping things bottled up and holding on is more draining then letting go, so I lift the balloon and release; my heart doing the inflating.

  
  


Coming to terms with his death hasn't been easy- nothing has been easy lately- but I carry on (no matter how painful) in honor of his memory and what he did for the world; my world and everyone else's. I go about as the Earth keeps turning; go about like he never died at all, like he never existed at all.

But that's my issue- he did exist- and I can't just forget that.

  


My rear finds my desk and I sit, switching on the lamp in the corner. I write after I awaken; May says you can chase anything away with a mind and a pen, so I write. And she's right. I write nothing in particular, little short stories and drabbles, maybe some poetry- rarely venturing past that. 

When I'm in a particularly bad mood I make lists. Lists of things that are going to happen, lists of things I've done wrong, bullet points of all the ways I've screwed up. I save them and keep them buried together in a folder under my mattress. I write until my hand aches and dawn rips through the night's seams and peaks from under the cracks. I write until words no longer have sounds or letters or meaning, write until pen snaps from the bottled up pressure I store like a meat freezer in the back of my head.

Tonight (today?) I decide to tell the story of Spiderman, but without the death and mistakes- Spider-Man without the Peter Parker, the perfect story without a story.

Ten words later and I tear the page, frustrated. I realize this will never work, because without me Spiderman wouldn't be Spiderman, that's like having Ironman without the Tony Stark- like Deadpool without the Wade Wilson. The hulk without... Well.

  


I fumble with the pen. An idea lights up in my head and I smirk, etching it onto the paper before it fizzles out.

**'All the Reasons I Hate Mysterio.'**

I take a glance at the clock. 3:42.

  
  
  


The hours pass easy after that. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading#
> 
> (Matter of fact, stalk me on etsy too.  
> https://www.etsy.com/shop/EsEcosystem


	3. Red Orange Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn rises- time for the daily mental disasters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYO! It's about that time!- For your daily dose of vi-  
> FaNfIcTiOn. Uh huh uh huh. I wrote this for two hours with no draft or edits so Im really impressed with myself. Anyway I hope you enjoy! Feel free to offer suggestions and stuff, as always:
> 
> Stalk me on instagram @ eviemazing
> 
> And BAM Facebook too! @ Evie Camille Wills

May calls me out of my mind hours later. I blink, stretching and staring at the sky. It's a soft red orange color; dawn only just rising, yellows and darker reds dance for dominance, but what remains is still a soft, but striking scene- like a painting straight from a canvas; the acrylic still drying.

I pull my window open, snapping a quick picture with my phone.

My thumbs fumble around aimlessly as I tap MJ's contact. My heart still stutters whenever I see a message pop up from her; like some love sick puppy.

**Look how beautiful, MJ!**

<https://www.pexels.com/photo/light-landscape-nature-sky-33834/>

A few seconds later, my phone buzzes. I huff amusedly, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. _This girl._

**Yes, very kind of you to try and**

**magnify my** **be** **auty, Peter.**

I huff amusedly, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. _This girl._

**You know that's not- I mean. What**

**are you do** **ing** **up so early?**

**Talking to you; you texted, I**

**answer. You're always up this**

**early anyway.**

**How'd you know that?**

**You're like an owl, never sleep.**

**Speaking- how was last night?**

**You mean?**

**You know what I mean, loser.**

MJ picked up on my sleeping problem a week ago when she came into my room while I was passed out. She had poked me softly and I jumped to the ceiling, eyes wide and frightened. I choked on air, the tape strangling my breaths, dream visions waltzing. She looked at me with an unamused look, concern laced in her eyes. My face was pale and deranged, body stiff and strung up like a wind-up toy whos wind up was being held onto.

"Pete-"

I had snapped at her. "WAIT A GODDAMN SECOND!" She flinched but otherwise had no reaction. I had taken a second to catch loose air, dropping to the hardwood with a loud _thump. MJ_ sat beside me, questioning but silent. I remember her hands pulling through my sleep matted hair, her fingers tracing the dark patterns under my eyes.

We sat like that almost a full hour.

"I'm sorry, " I choked. "I didn't mean-"

"You can talk to me." I sighed, turning my head from her view, shame burning in my core.

"But you won't talk to me, because you're Peter." She turned my face back to her, eyes deep-set with understanding. "Right?"

"Yeah," I said, looking down at the scratches buried in the floorboards.

"Yeah, that's about it." She stared at me- into me- with so much endearment that I momentarily thought Beck had pulled a stunt on me; her lips slightly brushing the top of my nose.

"Okay." She said. No arguing, no scalding or forcing of feelings- nothing. And I love that about MJ, she lets you decide when you want to express something, not strain it out of you. She knew that was what I needed and she supplied.

"But you can always tell me, you will never burden me, okay loser?'

"Okay, MJ. Thanks."

And that was that. She hasn't pushed since then, and I haven't budged. I know she wants to help, but I need to deal with this stuff on my own without people breathing their worry down my throat, no matter how they pretend _not too._

**It was fine, thanks for asking,**

**And you,** **M 'lady?**

I can hear the eyeeye-roll her response.

**It was fine, thanks for asking.**

**Come on, MJ.**

**Relax, just mocking you. Wanna**

**go into town tomorrow? Lego shop**

**or whatever?**

Of course sh,e would say that.

**I would love to, pick you up**

**at 11 then?**

**Walk with me or actually**

**pick me up because you know**

**I don't like that shit.**

**Ooh looks like I'll do the**

**second o** **ne then 😏**

**Fuck you Parker.**

I laugh, sliding my phone back into my pocket.

**No.**

_''_ Peter!"May calls again. I yell a reply, stumbling down the stairs. May stands by the kitchen window, coffee cup in hand, phone in the other.

"Hey, Tiger! Sorry to wake you so early, but you have a phone call." She smiled at me, her hand grazing mine as I take the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Peter!" A child's soft, chirpy voice said. "Mommy said I can call you in the morning, and it's morning now, so hi!" The same smile May had curls at my lips. 

"Hello, Morgan. Yes it is morning. Why do you want to talk so early?" I speak in a cool, cheerful tone; the same as a dog lover would react to puppies.

"Because Mommy said I can talk to you in the morning." She repeated. I laugh lightly, her unawareness too adorable to manage a straight face.

"Did you miss me?"

"Yes! You haven't called in so long, Petey! Mommy said somethin' about you needed to 'heal' I asked if you were sick and she said in the heart. What's that mean, Petey? Are you dying?"

"Not literally M, no. I'm all healthy."

"Then what did mommy mean?" I pause, not knowing how to answer. I could tell a white lie, but lying to kids is the worst sin to any nonbeliever. I could tell the truth, but I can't but that kind of strain on a 5-year-old. I decide to launch somewhere in between.

"Everyone is a little sick in the heart right now, Sweetie. It's okay though."

"Because of daddy?" A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it down. _Not right now, Peter. Not right now._

"Yeah. Yeah but he-"

"You don't gotta lie to me, Petey." I can hear shuffling on the other side of the line. Thinking about Morgan curled up in fluffy blankets drinking apple juice in the cubby her dad built over her bed always makes me smile.

"Daddy isn't coming back, I know. Why does everyone keep lying to me? Lying is bad."

"Sometimes lies are better than the truth, Morgie." My voice cracks. I wipe my eyes.

"Are you okay, Petey? I'm sorry."

"No no Morgan it's okay I just… I've just been having a hard time lately." I admit silently, not wanting May to hear.

"Why?"

"Bad dreams. The scary kind."

"The kind with big monsters?" I picture Beck for a moment, his dead-eyed stare echoing in my mind. I shiver.

"Yeah, a scary monster, my size though."

"Why would you be scared of something smaller than you?" She asks.

My brain stutters. _But Beck is bigger. So, so much bigger. I am an ant. Dust particles. A half-sized cell. I'm nothing compared to what that man- no, what that can do to people. Nothing._

"Big things can be in small packages," I reply simply. "Morgan, isn't it a little early for you?"

"Yeahhhh." She yawns. "I'm sleepy, but I wanted to talk to you. And I did. Can I sleep now, Petey?"

"You never have to ask me to do anything," I say. "Of course you can sleep. I'll talk to you soon okay? Thank you for calling me, and so early too."

"Always! Bye-bye!" The signal stops. I stand there a moment, holding the phone in silence. My hand starts to shake a little. I smack it with my other hand, hard; so hard that my shaking hand slams into the corner edge of the counter. I catch the falling phone with my foot so May doesn't hear it clatter. I hiss, clutching. A small puddle of blood leaks onto the ground and I freak; looking both ways before using my shirt to wipe the floor, wrapping it around.

I rush up the stairs and into the bathroom, ignoring May's question and lock the door. Blood trickles into the drain at a slower pace then before, much to my relief. I let it soak for a minute, even more, relieved to note that my advanced healing kicked in. I stand there until the angry dark red line on my knuckles fades to a more subtle (but by no means unnoticeable) red and trudge my way back to my room.

I fall onto my bed with another thump, my back hitting the mattress.

I check my phone. Another text from MJ. There it is, the heart flutter.

(Gotta insert,)

**Accurate huh?**

I genuinely smile for the first time all week.

**Yeah, yeah it is.**

_The puppy mentality will never go away_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND ETSY... Im too lazy to copy the link its in the last chapter XD


	4. sorry just an update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a thing

sorry about the wait!!!! in a slump right now, will be updated eventually.


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